


We Speak Of A Difficult and Magnificent Botanist

by SecondStarfall (beantiger)



Series: The Second Starfall Stories [29]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Childhood Memories, Comfort, Dark Past, Dissociation, Epic Friendship, Fantasy, Female Friendship, Flash Fic, Flashbacks, Flowers, Gen, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Female Character, LGBTQ Themes, Lesbian Character, Medieval, Memories, Names, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:00:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22584439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beantiger/pseuds/SecondStarfall
Summary: At the Vagrant’s Hospital, Alexandrine (then only the crown princess) had asked: “Did you know Kaamin is four countries away? Do you know how far that is? Do you know how magnificent it is that you walked here—if what you say is true?”***We defend our thesis on the friendship of the queen and her botanist.
Series: The Second Starfall Stories [29]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1582975
Kudos: 8





	We Speak Of A Difficult and Magnificent Botanist

**Author's Note:**

> **RECOMMENDED RE-READING:** Queen Alexandrine and her botanist have been friends since ["A Good Queen Is Good To Have"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22005889) and ["Valerian of the Road."](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22112509)
> 
> ✨ [[see the full SecStar timeline](https://secondstarfall.com/index.php/Official_Timeline) | [check out the SecStar wiki](https://secondstarfall.com/)] ✨

Reluctantly, and only reluctantly, the royal botanist left her tower to deliver lavender to the local soapmaker. She spoke to no one, and kept her cowl flipped down against the budding moon.

It puzzles historians such as ourselves that the botanist, a favorite of the queen, felt the need to transport anything herself that evening. One could count the times she willingly left her tower on a single limb. But we do know _why_ she hid away.

For instance: in case she heard her name while walking the streets.

And she did, this time.

***

The botanist’s name was _Valériane de la Rue._ Yet as she searched for the soapmaker’s shop, a voice called out with a much different sound: _Ki-raan, Ki-raan..._

 _Valériane_ rushed into the shop as soon as she found it. When the soapmaker noted her accent, her mind washed away.

***

The botanist’s name was Valériane de la Rue. Queen Alexandrine of Althussant had given it to her when Valériane was a thirteen-year-old, a drifter, fresh from the Vagrant’s Hospital with scars she could not place.

Valériane is, was, an Althussian name.

***

Someone else’s botanist stumbled out of the soapmaker’s shop, panting. Someone else’s botanist smelled like sweat and earth and fear.

Valériane noticed herself from afar.

With the benefit of time, we know this is called _post-traumatic stress disorder._

***

The botanist’s accent was not Althussian but Kaaminan.

The botanist’s parents were Kaaminan. 

We might argue that the botanist herself was Kaaminan, but we try not to argue at all.

***

At the Vagrant’s Hospital, Alexandrine (then only the crown princess) had asked: “Did you know Kaamin is four countries away? Do you know how _far_ that is? Do you know how magnificent it is that you walked here—if what you say is true?”

She pointed to a worn map in an old atlas her father the king had given her. 

“Do you know,” said the princess to her little Kaaminan friend, “how magnificent you are?”

***

Valériane spoke the truth: she had indeed walked across four countries to reach Althussant, as far as she knew.

We are not here to debate that.

We are here to speak about her country, Kaamin, and how it reached across time to find her. As she exited the soapmaker’s shop, crying out for the queen, Kaamin wrapped its arms around her and breathed deep into her mind.

***

“A husband?” questioned the Kaaminan girl. “What about a wife?”

She did not expect her father to respond. Her parents lived like clouds, silent and untouchable. Yet there in the kitchen her father pressed a wooden spoon against the six-year-old’s cheek, guiding her gaze towards the Kaaminan flag on the wall.

“You are the wife, Kiraan Tacharian, and one for the homeland. The Councillor has fourteen children. She is only thirty-eight years old. I believe—I hope—you can beat that one day.”

***

Kiraan Tacharian could not, would not, marry a man. Valériane de la Rue wouldn’t, either.

But in Althussant, they said, one could love as freely as wind-flow.

***

“Kiraan?” rang the voice outside the soapmaker’s shop.

And Valériane responded, sinking to the cobblestones, “Alexandrine, please, please—”

***

“—if you must keep me,” said the little Kaaminan, “I would have a new name. I can't bear my old one, from the old country.”

The princess Alexandrine gestured for her to enter the carriage.

“Come, then, Valériane! Valériane de la Rue, my flower in the road, my sister. Don't be so difficult!”

This happened ten years before the incident at the soapmaker’s.

***

A sister forever tethers herself to her siblings’ hearts, regardless of shared blood or age. History proves this regularly, and proved it again the evening the royal botanist left her tower.

Valériane did not go into town alone. Rather, countless unassuming eyes followed her. These commoners reported her fall back to the queen. Within the hour, Alexandrine rode out from the castle, tailed by half her guard.

***

The townsfolk later forgot the event, but the soapmaker did not, nor did history—

How the queen herself carried Valériane de la Rue into the shop, and lay her on the counter, wiping the botanist’s cheeks with her silken sleeve—

And how the royal botanist returned to herself again, stretching out her arms to the woman who had named her—

And how thirty guards somehow filed into that miniscule space, red-faced, as the soapmaker reeled into the shadows of his back-room—

And all the crying, of course.

“No husbands, please,” said the botanist. “No husbands. Alexandrine—”

“Yes, yes, I’m here, darling. What happened to you?”

“You came for me. You came so far.”

The queen (it is said) bent down, pressing her forehead to the botanist’s.

“What is a few miles,” she said, “to four countries, really?”

***

We are not here to theorize about what Valériane de la Rue truly heard outside the soapmaker’s shop (for history tells us she was, indeed, a difficult and erratic woman). And we are not here to debate Valériane’s magnificence, or Queen Alexandrine’s love—

Only to remember it.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment or a kudos or whatever the heck if this tickled your fancy. There shall be more! ❤️ Also, please let me know what other characters, relationships, or places you'd like to hear about. I have lots of ideas, but I'd enjoy writing a few stories for y'all as well.
> 
> ✨ [[see the full SecStar timeline](https://secondstarfall.com/index.php/Official_Timeline) | [check out the SecStar wiki](https://secondstarfall.com/)] ✨
> 
>  **AUTHOR'S COMMENTARY:** Who tells these stories? Sometimes it's just A Narrator, but if an "I" or a "you" is referenced, it's usually a Varyan. We'll discover more about Varyans later, but they're the SecStar world's race of archivists. They also tend to wear animal masks and have crystalline skin. Yeah, furry Crystal Gems are canon in my world. That is my legacy.


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